Boys of the Revolution
by AmazingWingedGirl
Summary: A series of oneshots featuring Éponine and various Barricade Boys! Some cute, some sad, some romantic. A little OOC for some, but not really AU at all...read and review! Nothing too explicit, rated T for some sexual situations-rating subject to change. Enjoy! :D
1. Jean Prouvaire

**I'm back! Wow, I haven't posted anything in so long…anyway! **

**Before we start, I just want to make one thing clear: I'm not in any way trying to make Éponine look like a whore by putting her with each barricade boy! You should treat each chapter as a separate story. I only put them all together because I didn't feel like having 10-15 separate stories to upload. Think of it more as an anthology! Anyway, now let's get to the actual thing. Here's the first installment.**

I Want to Know What Love Is

Éponine + Prouvaire

"_Jean Prouvaire was a lover;__ he cherished a pot of flowers, played the flute, wrote verses, loved the people, pitied women, wept over the lot of children, divided his faith equally between the future and God, and reproached the Revolution for having cut off an illustrious head, that of André Chénier. Above all, he was kind; and in poetry he favored the grandiose. He loved to stroll through meadows of wild flowers and was scarcely less interested in the passage of the clouds than in the passage of events. There were two sides to his mind, the side of men and the side of God; he studied, or he meditated. __He talked gently, bowed his head, smiled self-consciously, blushed for no reason, was awkward and extremely shy - and for the rest, fearless.__"_

_-Victor Hugo, Les Misérables_

The ABC café was quiet; most of the young men in and around it had fallen asleep. It was late and they were tired. While Enjolras and Courfeyrac kept watch on the barricade, the rest of the boys tried to catch some form of rest before the inevitable battle the next day. One, however, remained awake, restless and unable to close his eyes. Jean Prouvaire tugged his jacket closer around his shoulders, trying to keep the chill of the night away. He drew his arms around himself and leaned his back against the stone wall of the café, trying for the umpteenth time to lose himself in sleep. Just as he felt himself start to drift off, the door of the café opened, its rusty hinges creaking. Prouvaire looked up to see none other than Éponine Thernadier quietly making her way to the stairs. Prouvaire stood up, stretching his sore limbs.

"'Ponine?" he whispered. Éponine jumped.

"My apologies, Monsieur. I didn't mean to wake you," she replied, her eyes cast downward. She was shivering. Prouvaire saw the bruises on her arms and slowly made his way across the café, the floor littered with dust and broken glass.

"'Ponine, what's happened to you? Where have you been?" he asked gently.

Éponine shied away from his outstretched hand. "Out."

"Out where?" Prouvaire prompted, his bow furrowed, praying to God her answer wasn't what he suspected it'd be.

"I have a job to uphold," Éponine whispered, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. Prouvaire was so kind; she felt ashamed to admit her actions to him. The pain on his face at her words only made her feel worse.

"'Ponine, no. Please…you're worth more than that," Prouvaire said. He could feel his face starting to turn red already.

Éponine laughed bitterly. "I'm only worth what men will pay for me. That's all. Please, Monsieur…let me alone."

Prouvaire, while normally quite shy and reserved, found himself reaching out to stop her from turning away. "Why do this to yourself? Help me understand."

Éponine shrugged, her shoulders sagging with the burden of a life of pain. "I need the francs, and they have them."

"But it's called making _love, _'Ponine, not making money. Whatever they give you, it's not love."

"And a schoolboy like you knows what love is?" Éponine remarked, rubbing her bruised arm.

Prouvaire hesitated. "I've—I've read about it. In poems, and the like." Immediately he blushed bright red; what a stupid thing to say. "And—and I think I've got a…a good understanding…" he was rambling again. Éponine turned once more to go upstairs. "No! Wait. Every day, you come here, and I see you…I see you look at him. At Marius."

"Marius?" Éponine said, surprised.

"I know. We all know. I've seen the way you look at him, and every time he looks the other way I want to hit him over the head with something heavy because, 'Ponine, he's blind. Here's this beautiful girl right in front of him, and he just doesn't see. If you looked at me that way, I'd…well, it wouldn't go unnoticed," Prouvaire said with a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his head.

A moment of silence passed between them in which Éponine tried to sort through the tangled mess of her emotions. All the pain, both from being battered by men with rough hands and no patience and all these feelings, came crashing down on her. Finally, she said, "Go back to sleep, Monsieur. It does not do to dwell on things such as this the night before a battle."

"But, 'Ponine, I may not have the chance to dwell on it again," Prouvaire said urgently. "It's likely I'll die tomorrow, all of us. I'm not afraid of death; all the poets say it's but the next great adventure. I'm afraid of dying without telling you first that I—I love you."

"You love me?" It was an idea so ridiculous that Éponine could barely wrap her head around it Prouvaire was always just in the background, quietly writing or reading some ancient literature. Had he really been enamored with her the whole time? The caring look in his amber eyes told her yes. "You…love _me_?" she repeated. She'd never even noticed.

Prouvaire nodded. "I've always thought you were so beautiful," he admitted, past the point of embarrassment now. He just wanted to help this poor, lost girl. Éponine was so strong on the outside, but he could see how fragile she was now.

Éponine scoffed and began walking up the stairs. "Beautiful? A girl who sells herself out of the same dress she's worn for years? That's not beauty, that's disgrace." She said over her shoulder, reaching the top of the stairs. Prouvaire, still behind her, put his hands gently on her arms and turned her around to face him. Slowly, he brought a hand up to Éponine's face, brushing away a tear before it had the chance to fully fall. He was nervous, so nervous, wishing he had had the nerve to do this months ago. A voice in the back of his mind told him not to stop, to forget the girl and focus on what was really at stake—that is, the Revolution. But another voice, a louder one, was singing. _If you're going to die tomorrow, live for today, _it sang. And Prouvaire listened. He leaned down, softly brushing his lips against Éponine's, so dizzy with nerves that he nearly lost his balance, which would have sent them both tumbling down the stairs.

After a moment, Éponine pulled away from the kiss, her eyes full of tears. Prouvaire's heart broke seeing this. No woman ever deserved to feel this way, and he pitied all who ever had.

Éponine felt so vulnerable in this broken state, yet so safe in Prouvaire's arms. Until now, she'd never felt a touch so gentle, or a kiss so tentative. She could feel his erratic heartbeat, her small hand resting on his chest, and met his eyes, flickering in the dim light, with her own. His face was somewhat flushed, and his hands a little shaky, but none of that mattered. What mattered was that he cared. "You really love me?" she whispered. There were only mere inches between them; she could feel the heat of his body. Prouvaire nodded, giving Éponine a comforting smile as he smoothed her tangled hair. Éponine drew a shaky breath. "Then show me."

And he did.

**The whole time I was writing this I just kept thinking ALISTAIR ALISTAIR ALISTAIR! **

**So what'd you think? This is probably one of my favorites; I really like how it turned out. **

**Let me know what you think in a review and don't forget to subscribe to this story so you know when the next chapter is up!**


	2. Courfeyrac

**Here's Barricade Boy #2! I took a Which Barricade Boy Are You quiz and well, this amazing guy was my result! Love it :D **

**Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

Make Me Laugh

Éponine + Courfeyrac

_"Courfeyrac did not wish to be behind, and called himself briefly Courfeyrac. [He] had in fact that youthful animation which we might call the diabolic beauty of mind. In later life, this dies out, like the playfulness of the kitten, and all that grace ends, on two feet in the bourgeois, and on four paws in the mouser... There was in Tholomyès an attorney, and in Courfeyrac a paladin. Enjolras was the chief, Combeferre was the guide, Courfeyrac was the center. The others gave more light, he gave more heat; the truth is that he had all the qualities of a center, roundness and radiance."_

"Mademoiselle Thérnadier," Courfeyrac said, tipping an imaginary hat as Éponine approached him in the plaza outside the ABC Café, a boyish grin plain on his face. Éponine laughed at his antics. A day didn't go by when Courfeyrac didn't make some kind of cheeky move at Éponine when he saw her.

"Monsieur," Éponine replied with a smile, curtseying. Courfeyrac winked.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company today, Mademoiselle?"

"This came for you," she said, handing Courfeyrac a box wrapped in brown paper and twine. Courfeyrac hopped down from where he had been sitting on a cart of fruit, grabbing an apple off of it as he did so.

"I'll trade you," he said, tossing the apple to Éponine and taking the package. Éponine turned to go back to the café, looking at the apple in her hand and laughing at Courfeyrac's charm. As she walked back towards the ABC Café, she heard him wolf-whistle after her. She turned and made a face, before both of them started laughing. Not watching where she was going, she almost bumped into a woman crossing the street with her young child. Éponine continued on her way after apologizing, Courfeyrac laughing behind her.

Only a mere fifteen minutes later, as Éponine sat at one of the tables of the café chatting with Combeferre, the door burst open and in stumbled Grantaire, supporting a very bruised Courfeyrac. There was blood streaming from his nose and onto his shirtsleeve, yet he still kept his upbeat composure.

"H'lo, 'Ponine!" he called, collapsing into a chair in the corner of the café.

"What happened to you?" she asked worriedly, hurrying over to him.

"Fell over," he said, voice muffled by his sleeve. Éponine rolled her eyes and went to get him a handkerchief to stem the flow from his nose.

"What am I going to do with you?" she asked incredulously when she returned, handing Courfeyrac the handkerchief. Courfeyrac shrugged and pinched his nose. Éponine gave him a minute before asking, "Now, are you going to tell me what really happened?"

"I was only protecting your name, Mademoiselle Thérnadier," he smiled.

"My—what?"

"Some bastard came up t'me affer you lef' and 'e said you were a stree' urchin," he said, nose stuffy from all the blood. "So I hit 'im and 'e 'it back."

Éponine shook her head, laughing in disbelief. "Well, I admire your valiant efforts, Monsieur, but next time, don't get yourself all bloodied up over me!"

"You're worth it," he said, winking. Courfeyrac's nose was still bleeding heavily, so Éponine took the soaked handkerchief and exchanged it for a much larger hand towel.

"You took a pretty hard hit, Monsieur," she commented.

"You should see 'im," Courfeyrac laughed, a silly grin spreading over his face when Éponine laughed. "Ow," he said as she tried to wipe the blood from his face.

"Sorry. Does it really hurt that much?"

A sly smirk spread across Courfeyrac's face. "It might feel better if you kiss it," he suggested innocently. Éponine, playing along with his game, started to lean in painfully slowly, her hand on his thigh. A split second before her lips would have grazed his skin she pulled back and promptly stood up.

"On second thought, I'm going to get you some water," she declared.

"Ah, 'Ponine! Tha's not fair!" Courfeyrac flopped back in the chair, aghast and more than a little jittery.

Combeferre, who had witnessed all this from his seat at the table, laughed at Courfeyrac's pouty expression, taking a swig of ale. "So close, and yet so far, eh?" Courfeyrac glared at Combeferre and shot him the one-finger salute, pressing the towel to his nose again. "May I offer a word of advice, my friend? Cover your trousers before Mademoiselle Thérnadier returns," he said in his mature voice, chuckling and gesturing to the bulge in Courfeyrac's pants.

Courfeyrac looked down, not altogether ashamed. Nevertheless, he covered himself right as Éponine came back around the corner. "Here you are," she said, handing Courfeyrac the water she'd so inconveniently left to retrieve. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes," Courfeyrac said after a moment. "It's just a little _hard_…to talk normally," he finished with a smirk. Combeferre snorted into his mug of ale and Éponine looked confused. Combeferre, sensing it was appropriate to do so, promptly got up and strode out the door, leaving the two alone in the café. Courfeyrac's nose had nearly stopped bleeding, and he stood up, weaving a finger through Éponine's belt and pulling her close to him. Éponine laughed; he was such a flirt. "You left me hanging, _Mademoiselle_," he said, the boyish glint in his eye more prominent than ever.

"And as I'll do it again in a heartbeat, I suggest you unhand me, _Monsieur_," she replied, equally teasing.

Just at that moment, the café door banged open; Éponine and Courfeyrac sprang apart as Enjolras burst in. The fire ablaze in his eyes told them both what he'd come to say before the words had even left his mouth. "Come, Courfeyrac. We're rallying outside General LaMarque's house." Courfeyrac let out a little yelp and sprang for his hat, bustling around with the energy of a five-year-old child. Éponine watched him, unsure if she should laugh or scoff.

"C'mon, 'Ponine, we don't want to miss all the fun!" He grabbed her hand and as they left the café, Courfeyrac whispered in Éponine's ear, "and maybe we can have some of our own later!"

**So what'd you think? I love Courfeyrac 3 It was a little hard to capture all the aspects of his character…how he's boyish and a ladies' man but also willing to fight for his beliefs…anyway.**

**Review and stay tuned!**


	3. Grantaire

**Who's ready for some É/R action? I love Grantaire, so this was really fun to write! A couple things that are important to know before you read this chapter though:**

**While writing this chapter, I imagined it taking place months before any of the battles depicted in the book / stage version / movie. I wanted at least one chapter that's not at all focused on the Revolution, and this is it!**

**The book says Grantaire is ugly, but George Blagden (movie Grantaire) is damn sexy, and that's who I picture in this chapter. So Grantaire is therefore damn sexy.**

**So no one asks, Grantaire sounds like "Grand-R" as in capital R, hence Grantaire being referred to as simply "R". Gotta love Victor Hugo and his many puns.**

**Enjoy!**

Drink With Me

Éponine + Grantaire

_"Among all these passionate hearts and all these undoubting minds there was one skeptic. How did he happen to be there? from juxtaposition. The name of this skeptic was Grantaire, and he usually signed with the rebus: R. Grantaire was a man who took good care not to believe anything. He was, moreover, one of the students who had learned most during their course in Paris; he knew the good places for everything; furthermore, boxing, tennis, a few dances, and he was a profound cudgel-player. A great drinker to boot…He looked tenderly and fixedly upon every woman, appearing to say of them all: 'if I only would'; and trying to make his comrades believe that he was in general demand. All these words: rights of the people, rights of man, social contract, French Revolution, republic, democracy, humanity, civilization, religion, progress, were, to Grantaire, very nearly meaningless. He smiled at them. Skepticism... had not left one entire idea in his mind. He lived in irony. This was his axiom: There is only one certainty, my full glass. He ridiculed all devotion, under all circumstances...A rover, a gambler, a libertine, and often drunk...Grantaire, a true satellite of Enjolras, lived in this circle of young people; he dwelt in it; he took pleasure only in it; he followed them everywhere. His delight was to see these forms coming and going in the fumes of the wine. He was tolerated for his good-humour."_

_-Victor Hugo, Les Misérables_

Grantaire was drinking again, downing mug after mug of ale, absinthe, and wine…really, he would drink anything if it came from a bottle. While usually slumped in a corner, however, tonight he was rowdy and boisterous, bustling around the Café Musain like it was Christmas Eve. The group of young revolutionaries and the much smaller number of women who congregated at the café were all in good spirits; one of the students had brought his accordion and all tapped their feet to merry songs including _Ambiance Musettienne_ or singing along to _Sous Les Ciels Des Paris_. Even Enjolras cracked a smile for the first time in what seemed like ages when Jehan and Courfeyrac tried to dance a jig. As for Éponine, she was there as well, laughing with the lot of the boys as Grantaire tripped, stumbled and badly danced his way across the room. He finally collapsed into an empty chair **(A/N: But not an empty table! Hehe. Jokes. Jokes everywhere.)** between Éponine and Enjolras. Taking another swig from his bottle he clapped a hand on Enjolras's back, singing a long, overdramatic verse of _Plaisir d'amour_ loudly in the man's ear. Enjolras shook him off, rolling his eyes but laughing a little nonetheless. Grantaire turned his interests instead to Éponine, dragging his chair closer to her and winking.

"Drink up!" he said loudly, pouring some of the contents of his bottle into a cup for Éponine. She drank it, feeling the alcohol burn her throat. The boys looked impressed as she downed another cup, and Éponine already began to feel the effects of the drink. Maybe that's why when Grantaire stuck out his hand she took it and let him lead her to the center of the room. The drunk, his eyes surprisingly clear for someone so intoxicated, twirled Éponine around a few times while the crowd laughed.

The festivities seemed to go on for hours; Éponine had more fun than she'd had in years. She'd danced with nearly all the boys—even a reluctant Enjolras—her heart fluttering especially fast when Marius took her hand and spun her around. Now the café was emptying; the students were leaving in pairs or small groups. Courfeyrac, not surprisingly, was leading a young woman by the name of Virginie out the door…Éponine recognized her from previous nights at Café Musain. Enjolras and Combeferre were the last left in the café aside from Éponine and a now unconscious Grantaire.

"Should we wake him?" Combeferre asked, prodding Grantaire's side with his shoe. Enjolras looked at the sleeping figure disapprovingly.

"Leave him, he'll come to eventually," he said, tugging on his red waistcoat. He and Combeferre started towards the door.

"Coming with us, Mademoiselle?" Enjolras asked chastely.

"Be on your way, Monsieur. Someone's got to clean up this mess."

Enjolras, not sure if she was referring to the messy café or Grantaire, nodded with a polite smile and exited with Combeferre.

Éponine then tried to sit Grantaire upright. "Come on, R, up you get," she muttered, leaning over him and trying to lift him to a sitting position. Éponine soon found that an unconscious drunk is not nearly as much fun to be around as a spirited one and rested for a moment before trying to lift Grantaire again. He might as well have been a sack of sand.

"Now this I could get used to!" Grantaire suddenly exclaimed as Éponine bent over him again in what was meant to be another attempt to help. Startled, she jumped back.

"You're awake!"

"It seems so," he said back, blinking a couple times and automatically reaching for his bottle. Éponine moved it out of his reach.

"No more for you, Monsieur."

Grantaire pouted. "Please?"

"No," she said, trying not to let him see her laugh.

"Please? You're pretty," he slurred.

"Flattery will get you nowhere with me, R."

"You're beautiful. A goddess. Aphrodite. Please can I have my bottle?" he begged.

"No!" Éponine laughed turning round to wipe down the table. Now that she was sure Grantaire was still alive, maybe she could tidy the café up some.

However, it seemed Grantaire had other plans. He took her arm before tugging her onto his lap with a smirk. He then whispered rather seductively in her ear, "Please, 'Ponine." Why was her heart beating so fast? Why did her mind suddenly go blank? It couldn't be the alcohol, could it? She'd only had a few small drinks! The smirk on Grantaire's face was still there as Éponine replied.

"No. You've already had more than—" Grantaire cut her off with a kiss, situating her more comfortably on his lap. "—enough," Éponine finished breathlessly when they broke apart. A moment passed in which she stared into his eyes and he stared right back before both of them went in for another kiss as if by some unspoken decision. The kiss grew heated and Grantaire snaked a hand around Éponine's waist, lifting her with surprising ease so they were both standing and still locked in the fierce kiss. Grantaire, unsteady on his feet, stumbled a bit and Éponine grabbed the table for support as he proceeded to kiss her neck. An alarm was clanging in the back of her mind, but Grantaire's hands on her waist and his body pressed against hers distracted her from the sound, and she promptly forgot about it. He laid her down on the table, his hands gentle but firm, taking care not to hurt her in any way.

They both knew that the ale was to blame for this sudden surge of attraction, but that could wait until tomorrow. Right now, all they wanted was each other. Grantaire swore under his breath, trying to figure out the many string on Éponine's dress. Éponine laughed and helped him undo them. Finally, he was able to slip the garment off. She looked up at him poised over her and couldn't help but smile; he looked nervous, drunk, and very seductive all at the same time. He grinned too, and met her lips again.

The early morning air coming through the window of the café was cool on Éponine's skin as she dressed herself. It was dawn, and due to last night's…distractions, she had yet to do the cleaning she'd meant to. Not that she regretted anything; in fact, as she glanced at Grantaire, sleeping soundly, she smiled to herself. He was strange young man: always drunk but apparently still able to woo a girl. Éponine sighed; it was best just to accept the events of last night as a drunken mistake, a one-time action. After all, it was just one night, nothing more.

Right?

**Oh, I had so much fun with this! Grantaire…damn. Hope you liked it!**

**Review, and keep an eye out for the next chapter! **


	4. Joly

**Sorry for the late update! I had midterms to take, homework to do, a revolution to fight…anyway, enjoy the chapter! And for those of you wondering, all the excerpts at the beginning of the chapters are straight from The Brick (that is, the unabridged version of Les Mis…yep, I'm reading it! And I WILL read it all!) Enough talk now…read and review!**

Love is Contagious

Éponine + Joly

"_Joly was a youthful malade imaginaire. Such medicine as he had learned had made him more a patient than a doctor. At twenty-three he considered himself a chronic invalid and he spent his life inspecting his tongue in the mirror. He maintained that man was subject to magnetism like a compass-needle, and placed his bed with its head pointing north and its feet south so that his circulation might not be affected by the attraction of the poles…For the rest, he was the gayest of them all. His youthful inconsistencies, exaggerated, morbid but light-hearted, blended harmoniously together to makes an eccentric, agreeable young man to whom his comrades applied the English word 'jolly'."_

_-Victor Hugo, Les Misérables_

The fight loomed over the forty men situated at the barricade they had so hurriedly and haphazardly constructed. Joly shuddered when he thought of just how dangerous their actions had been. Not only had they stirred up a revolution they could only pray to win, but just think of how close so many of the men had come to being crushed by furniture falling from the windows! What an unfortunate way to die _that _would have been. Prouvaire sat beside Joly on a crooked table, rolling a cigarette. Prouvaire rolled one first for himself and then offered one to Joly, but the latter refused. The others could dirty their own lungs if they wished, but the aspiring doctor was far too cautious when it came to his health. Besides, Prouvaire had been known to roll everything from grass to the leaves of whatever pot of flowers he kept on his desk at the time into his smokes. Sighing and tired, Joly got up from his perch on the table and made his way towards the shot up Café Musain. On his way, he accidentally bumped into a young boy whom he did not recognize. After a muttered apology, Joly continued on his way.

"Monsieur, wait!" called the boy, limping his way over to Joly. It was, in fact, Éponine. She tugged off her cap, allowing her dark tresses to cascade down past her shoulders.

" 'Ponine!"

"Yes," she admitted.

"What are you doing here?" Joly asked. "Is that my overcoat?" he added, taking in Éponine's disguise.

"Please, Monsieur, don't ask me to explain. It was all I could find, and—well, it's nothing of importance. I was wondering if I might ask you something."

"Of course you may. Is everything alright? Are you sick? More importantly, are you contagious?" Joly questioned, taking a step back.

Éponine laughed; his fear of sickness was highly amusing, what with him wanting to be a doctor and treat the ill one day. "No," she replied.

"Oh. What is it, then? You're not hurt, are you?" Joly looked concerned.

"My ankle has been bothering me; I think I must have hurt it earlier as we built the barricade. Could you take a look at it?" Joly nodded, leading Éponine into the café. She sat on the floor—all the chairs were serving to support France in their own way by providing the foundation of the barricade—and extended her leg. Joly bent down, brushing off his hands on his trousers before bending down to take a look at Éponine's injury.

His eyes widened. "You've got yourself one hell of a sprain, Mademoiselle!" he exclaimed, a merry glint in his eyes as he wrapped her ankle in a scrap of fabric from one of the café's shredded curtains. "This should help keep it straight." He took his time tying the bandage around her ankle, as if he had calculated the exact number of wraps it would take to best heal it. Éponine watched him with a smile; the concentrated look on his face making her smile.

Joly looked up and saw her watching him, and raised an eyebrow. She giggled. "You're so focused," she laughed. Joly smiled.

"I'm just doing the best I can, Mademoiselle. Come on, let me help you stand." He took her hand as if to pull her to her feet, but instead lifted Éponine bridal style. She stifled a squeal before bursting out laughing. Joly held her in his strong arms, his fear of contact with other people momentarily gone. Almost automatically, Éponine draped her arms around Joly's neck, getting a laugh out of him as she toyed with the hair at the back of his neck. Before either of them had time to think, Joly leaned in and pecked Éponine on the lips, shocking them both. Joly had never so much as shaken hands with Éponine before for fear of germs!

"And here I thought you were afraid I had something contagious," Éponine teased as Joly carefully put her down, minding her ankle.

Joly grinned. "It wouldn't matter, even if you did."

"Why's that?"

"Tomorrow's fight is one to the death," he said. While his face showed happiness Joly's words were somber, and they deeply moved Éponine.

After a brief silence in which Éponine smoothed Joly's messy hair back, she said with a confident smile, "Well, let's hope it's death to the army, and not to you." Joly smiled and bent to kiss her again.

*ABC*ABC*ABC*ABC*ABC*ABC*

The smoke had cleared. Before the remaining men lay a gruesome scene; everywhere, members of Les Amis de l'ABC lay dead and dying. Some perished in puddles of blood while their friends tried to save them. A few called for their mothers, for God, for someone, _anyone_ to help. The bullets had stopped flying, but the damage was done. The guns of the army had pierced through the ranks of students, and the barricade, a symbol of a new _république_ only hours ago now looked more like the wreckage of a fire or raid.

Joly could not bear to look at the faces of the dead; they were too familiar, and held too many memories of days that seemed so far in the past. Could it be that these were the same friends who used to tease him about his paranoia of poor health? How could men so young, so full of life the night before, be the very same who crumpled to the ground, struck down by the enemy? It was horrifying.

Joly had already performed the heartbreaking task of covering little Gavroche's lifeless body with a cloth, as he couldn't bear to look at the boy's face. Once so lively, it was now so cold. As he walked back across the plaza now strewn with bodies, he wiped his brow of blood and grime. Suddenly, the sound of a weak voice, a dying, female voice met his ears. Turning, he saw Éponine lying against the barricade. Her hand did little to shield the rosette of color that quickly seeped through her shirt and onto the overcoat she'd borrowed from Joly to disguise herself.

Joly wanted to go to her, but his feet were glued to the ground. He could do nothing but watch as Marius, Éponine's closest friend, held her in her final moments. Each raindrop hit the men who were left standing like knives as Marius, hands trembling as he held Éponine, began to shake with sobs.

Enjolras caught Joly's eye and nodded towards Éponine. Numb, Joly stepped forward. He laid a hand on Marius's shoulder. Then, he picked Éponine up off the ground, bridal style.

But this time, her arms hung limp.

**No, I'm not crying! I just have something in my eye…like an eyelash…or a barricade… **

**This chapter hurt so much to write! Let me know what you thought of it in a review!**

**Oh—and if you have any "questions for the author," feel free to include those too! I love answering them!**


	5. Bahorel

**A couple notes before you read!**

**People have been asking me when it's Enjolras's turn…the answer to that is I'm making you wait for it because I know that's who you all want to see Éponine with! (Trust me, I get it…I ship Enjonine so hard it's not even funny.) And I need a lot of time to write something that's going to live up to your expectations!**

**Please, please keep reviewing! Hearing feedback makes my day, and makes me WANT to post another chapter!**

**This chapter is maybe a little out of character for Éponine…maybe Bahorel too, I don't really know since he's not even in the musical…eh. I guess we'll see.**

Anger Management

Éponine + Bahorel

"_Bahorel had had a share in the bloody riot of June 1822, occasioned by the funeral of Lallemand, a student who had been killed in a liberal demonstration. Bahorel was a creature of good intentions but a dangerous ally, courageous, spendthrift, generous to the point of prodigality, voluble to the point of eloquence, bold to the point of audacity, the best possible material for the devil to work on, with opinions as crimson as his waistcoats. He was a born agitator: that is to say, he enjoyed nothing more than quarrel except a rebellion, and nothing more than a rebellion except a revolution. He was always ready to smash a window, strip a street of its cobbles and then overthrow a government, just to see what would come of it—an eleventh-year student…He squandered a fairly large allowance in idleness, something of the order of three thousand francs…Bahorel, a creature of whims, frequented a number of cafés. The others had regular habits, he had none. He strolled. To err is human, to stroll is Parisian. But with all this he had an acute mind and was more given to thought than he appeared to be."_

_-Victor Hugo, Les Misérables_

"I just don't understand," Éponine spat. Bahorel laughed, his messy hair sticking up at odd angles as the two of them walked home from the most recent meeting at Café Musain.

"And exactly what about me is so hard for you to comprehend, Mademoiselle?" he asked, walking quickly. Éponine had to work to keep up pace.

"You're so…so violent!"

"It's a _revolution_ we're talking about," Bahorel countered. "Violence is the way of it, 'Ponine."

"_Don't_ call me that!" Éponine snapped at him. "The others—Enjolras, Combeferre—they know there's going to be a fight, and they know there will be bloodshed. But you—it's almost as if you don't care whether it's the soldiers or civilians who bleed!"

"I care about France. I want to be free just as badly as you do and if innocent people have to die for that to happen, then so be it! It doesn't matter if you're good or bad when the bullet hits you, it just matters that you're shot," he said, raising his voice as they turned down an alleyway, Éponine still a few paces behind him. It didn't take much to set Bahorel off; for someone with so little motivation scholastically, he had stinging opinions and plenty of ways to back them up.

"You just want to see someone get hurt, don't you? You're not afraid of it,_ you miss it. _You want more." Éponine was getting riled too now; she could feel her anger at Bahorel fueling her next cutting remarks, blinding her.

"Yes, I bloody well want more!" Bahorel shouted, stopping in his tracks and turning to face Éponine as she came to a sudden halt behind him. "Last year, during the riot, I watched French soldiers fall as the people made a difference. Did civilians die? Yes. But we made ourselves heard. We scaredthe bourgeoisie, and now it's time to do it again. Some will fall and some will live, on both sides. You should be excited."

Éponine paused a moment before speaking, her voice icy. "You act as though this is Waterloo all over again. What you speak of is a scuffle, not a war. You, and the rest of the boys, you're not trained troops. You are students, you're still in school! Have you ever even held a gun?" she paused, trying to get through to him. Bahorel simply stared at her, anger boiling in his dark eyes. Softly, Éponine continued, "This fight at the barricade won't make any difference. It'll just make the body count bigger, don't you see?" Now it was tears that made Éponine's vision fuzzy.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you're afraid we'll lose," Bahorel seethed.

"I _am_ afraid! I'm afraid of losing the fight, of losing friends, of losing M—"

Bahorel laughed incredulously. "Of losing who? Marius? Because he's just _so _afraid of losing _you?_" he sneered. "You can't lose what isn't yours." Éponine slapped him across the face, sending him reeling into the brick wall of the alley.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that!" she hissed, voice shaking with anger, the tears threatening to fall. He was right—Marius never had, and never would be hers—but the reminder stabbed her like a knife. She stood back, livid, relishing the shock on Bahorel's face as he rubbed his cheek. Then, for a reason unknown to Éponine, Bahorel smiled.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" he said, voice deep. "Go on, hit me again," he dared her, coming within a foot of her and exposing his cheek once more. The anger racing through Éponine's veins surged again, and she dealt Bahorel another blow. He grimaced at the sting of her hand, but smiled once more. "Now you see what I mean about wanting more."

Éponine could have retorted, but instead she took a deep, shaky breath. It wasn't worth it—_he _wasn't worth it. She made to sidestep him and continue on her way, but he threw out his arm to stop her. She clenched her teeth. "Let me through," she growled. With a smirk and a mock tip of the hat, Bahorel moved his arm. Éponine stormed past him.

"_Enculé,_" Éponine muttered under her breath as she walked away. _Bastard._

"That's what they all say," Bahorel said in a sing-song voice, "but with all due respect, Mademoiselle, I'm not the one who just slapped a poor, defenseless man across the face. Twice."

"You're far from defenseless," Éponine said, folding her arms across her chest and scowling. "And you deserved it."

"I only told you what you already know. Why waste your time pining after someone whose heart belongs not to you—" he had come up behind her, laying a hand on her shoulder—"when there are so many other men who would have you?"

"I hope you don't mean yourself."

"The offer stands," Bahorel said, softly kissing where Éponine's shoulder met her neck. She remained stoic and still, like a statue. Then, without a word, she tugged her arm from his grasp and continued walking down the alley.

**Alright, so this one was not my favorite, nor was it my best, I know that. I wrote and re-wrote this about 7 times, all with different sequences of events, and I feel really bad because I don't think Hugo intended Bahorel to be an asshole and I kind of made him into one. I just took his most prominent trait, that is, his love of arguments and conflict in general, and built on that. Ugh. Not loving this one…anyway, tell me what you think!**

**And I promise the next one will be better! **

**(I'm already working on the Enjolras one, which I hope you guys will love as much as I do!)**

**Review, ****s'il vous plaît! **


	6. Combeferre

**So sorry for the late update! I couldn't come up with a good idea, nor could I pick a boy to write about for the longest time…I finally got some inspiration! Here ya go!**

Life Lessons

Éponine + Combeferre

"_At the side of Enjolras, who represented the logic of revolution, was Combeferre, representing its philosophy. The difference between logic and philosophy is that the one can decide upon war, whereas the other can only be fulfilled by peace. Combeferre supplemented and restrained Enjolras. He was less lofty but broader of mind…Revolution with Combeferre was more breatheable than with Enjolras…Combeferre was as gentle as Enjolras was rigid, from innate purity…he read everything, went to the theatre and attended public lectures, learning from Arago, the director of the Observatory, about the polarization of light and from Geoffrey Saint-Hilaire about the functions of the external and internal arteries, one of which serves the face and the other the brain…He believed that society should strive incessantly for the raising of intellectual and moral standards, the popularization of science, the dissemination of ideas and the enlightenment of the young…Enjolras was a commander; Combeferre was a guide._

"F-forswear it, sight, for I ne…I ne…I n—"

"Ne'er," Combeferre prompted. Éponine nodded, her brow furrowed.

"I ne'er saw true bay—bee—beauty! Till this n-night." Éponine said, sitting back in her chair and sighing. Another page finished.

"Come on, 'Ponine," Combeferre encouraged. Only one more page and this scene is finished." Éponine put her head in her hands; Combeferre had been teaching her how to read for the past few weeks, but nevertheless she stumbled over the simplest of words and could barely discern 'what' from 'where.'

"What's the use?" she cried. "I'm hopeless." Combeferre got up from his chair, moving behind Éponine, and started rubbing her tense shoulders.

"You're not hopeless, 'Ponine. It's just new to you," he consoled her. "It's harder for you because you weren't taught at an early age."

"B-but you said last week that people's brains don't even develop fully until they're older! I'm 'older', Combeferre, and I still can't do it!"

"I did say that. But what people learn at an early age sticks with them. It's like having perfect pitch. After a certain age, it's impossible to gain it because it's based on what you learn as a child," he explained. Éponine started to cry.

"So I'm never going to be able to read?" she said. She was sick of being the only illiterate person who came to Café Musain. She could barely write her own name; how could she ever expect Marius to fall for her if she couldn't even write him sweet love notes like the ones Muschietta wrote to Joly?

"Let me rephrase that. You're having difficulty because you haven't been reading your whole life. You were brought up in…less than ideal circumstances, am I correct?" Éponine nodded; her upbringing had been far from educational, unless you counted her father teaching her at the young age of nine how to trick an old man into selling her his horse. Combeferre continued, "Exactly. So, it will be a struggle since this is your first time. I know you can do it, 'Ponine; you're doing very well as it is," he said, looking at her with kind eyes. "What do you say we read this last page? Together."

Éponine picked up Romeo and Juliet once more and flipped to the page she'd left off on. "Tie…Tybalt says, 'This, by his v-voice, should be a…a…what?" Combeferre laughed.

"Montague. Don't worry, I always mess that one up. I pronounced it 'Montahhhhhg' for years before Jehan finally corrected me." Éponine laughed; Combeferre smiled.

"Fe-fetch me my rape boy?" Éponine said, continuing the scene. "Is that really what it says?" Combeferre laughed again.

"Rapier, boy," he corrected. "Rapier is a fancy word for sword."

"Oh. Rapier, right. Sorry."

"It's quite alright." Éponine continued to muddle through the play while Combeferre helped her with the tricky words until the candle they'd been reading by had burned all the way down to a stub. Éponine finished one of the lengthier soliloquies before setting the book down on the table. Combeferre was looking at her with an amused smile.

"What?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing at all," Combeferre replied. "Éponine, you read that entire paragraph all by yourself."

"I—I did?" she was shocked. It had felt so…easy.

"You did." Éponine sat back in her chair in silence for a moment. A few minutes later the two of them stood up to leave.

"Thank you, Combeferre. For everything you've done."

"You're very welcome, Mademoiselle Thérnadier," he said, gathering his things. Éponine suddenly flung herself into his arms, hugging him tightly. After a moment of surprise, he hugged her back, and they held each other close.

"You have no idea how much this means to me," Éponine whispered, her cheek pressed against his chest. Combeferre was like the caring older brother Éponine never had; he was gentle, understanding, and knew her almost as well as she knew herself.

"Oh, I believe I do, dear 'Ponine. As for myself, I don't think a lad should be turned away by the inability to read, but—" Éponine pulled away a little, still holding Combeferre but retreating a bit in defiance and surprise.

"You know," she said softly. It wasn't a question.

Combeferre nodded. "I've seen the way you look at him." Éponine's heart sank. Combeferre pulled her closer and she welcomed his embrace. "Now listen to me, Éponine Thérnadier," Combeferre said as he hugged her. "Don't think about him. You have so much to be proud of; you've shown so much improvement and with a little time, you'll be able to read just about anything. Writing comes easily after that. Dwell on that tonight, not Marius."

Éponine smiled. "You're right. Thank you, again." Combeferre gave Éponine a chaste kiss on the cheek before leading her out the café. His flat was right across the street.

"I'm afraid I must bid you goodnight, dear Mademoiselle." He kissed her hand before entering his flat. Éponine turned to walk home, taking a longer route so as to enjoy the cool night air a little longer.

*ABC*ABC*ABC*ABC*ABC*ABC*ABC*ABC*

It was a small slip of paper, nothing more, sticking out from the wrought-iron gate that protected a small garden and a small house. It wasn't the paper that troubled Éponine, it was the name so beautifully written on it. _Marius_. Written in the kind of flawless cursive that Éponine's untidy scrawl could only hope to match one day, the note could not have been written by anyone but Cosette.

Her hands shaking, Éponine unfolded the paper, seeing the loops and flourishes of Cosette's writing, the perfectly dotted i's.

Cosette expressed nothing but love in her note to Marius, and Éponine knew in that moment that any chances she had with him were slipping away like the raindrops that were beginning to fall. Cosette was in love, and if she was, then there was no doubt that Marius would return the same affections. Cosette's note said it all.

Éponine could read it clearly.

**I thought this chapter was really sweet; I always picture Combeferre as a mature, slightly older Ami, and I just couldn't see him as a lover to our dear friend Éponine. No, he's more of a confidant, or in this case, a teacher and a friend.**

**Thanks so much for sticking with this story! I know you're all waiting for Enjolras…don't worry, he's coming! (And it may not be what you expect…)**

**Please review! :D**


	7. Bossuet

**I hate me as much as you hate me right now…I'm so sorry this update is so late! And by so sorry I mean SO, SO SORRY. Please forgive me, beautiful readers!**

**To avoid confusion before this chapter, this next guy has so many names. He's called Lesgles, Laigle, L'Aigle and Bossuet and in the book, but most commonly the other boys call him Bossuet, their nickname for him. Just so ya know! (So don't ask why I don't have a Lesgles chapter…that'd just be writing another Bossuet one!)**

Misfortune

Éponine + Bossuet

"_Bossuet was a cheerful but unlucky young man, notable for the fact that he succeeded in nothing. On the other hand, he laughed at everything. He was bald at the age of twenty-five…Nothing of his inheritance remained. He possessed learning and wit, but both miscarried. Nothing went right for him, everything failed him, all his undertaking went awry. If he tried to split logs he split his finger. If he acquired a mistress, he rapidly discovered that he also had a new male friend…Nothing surprised him, for he took all these accidents for granted, smiling at the mockery of fate like someone who joins in on the joke. He was poor, but his store of good humor was inexhaustible. He was always down to his last penny, but never to his last laugh."_

_-Victor Hugo, Les Misérables_

Éponine brushed past the group of young men in front of Café Musain, covering her face with on hand. She was wet from the pouring rain outside and her face stung from where her father had hit her. That night's meeting in the Café had just let out, and the revolutionaries were all gathered in the plaza, talking excitedly about events to come, some having a smoke. Éponine felt tears threatening to fall as she caught sight of Marius speaking animatedly with Bahorel and Combeferre. She tried to duck into the Café unseen to nurse her cheek and warm herself, but she was stopped when she ran straight into a tall figure.

"Mademoiselle Éponine!" Bossuet gasped, dropping his books when she bumped into him.

"Bossuet," Éponine said, stooping to pick up his fallen things. "I—I'm sorry, I didn't see you. Let me help." Her lank, dirty hair covered the red mark on her cheek as she began collecting the fallen books, however, the strain in her voice must have given her away.

Despite the fact that his finest textbooks had just been ruined by the mud left by the rain, Bossuet smiled kindly as he asked, "Are you quite alright? What's happened to you?"

"I'd rather not say," Éponine replied, shivering in her thin dress. Bossuet furrowed his brow before sliding out of his coat and draping it around Éponine's shoulders.

"Monsieur, please don't," Éponine protested. She tended to resist this kind of behavior from men; kind though Bossuet's actions were, Éponine could not help but feel she was betraying Marius by allowing the other boys to care for her. _But Marius doesn't want you,_ she reminded herself bitterly. It was true; he had eyes only for Cosette, who was just like the bourgeois two-a-penny lasses she and Marius joked about. _Used_ to joke about, that is. Now she was all he saw, even though he'd only just laid eyes upon her earlier today. Marius had known Éponine ever since he'd found her curled up under a shop window, too weak with hunger to walk, and given her a place to stay…he'd known of Cosette's existence for all of two hours, and yet he was more interested in her than he'd ever been in Éponine.

"Mademoiselle?" Bossuet was trying to get her attention.

"My apologies."

"Mademoiselle Thérnadier, I insist you take my coat. You look a fright!" Bossuet said with a smile and a pitying laugh. He led her inside the café, where Enjolras was rolling up the last of his papers and plans.

"Is she alright?" he asked Bossuet sternly when he caught sight of the haggard-looking Éponine.

"She will be fine," Bossuet said. Enjolras looked Éponine over with a sweeping glance before walking with purpose out of the Café. Once he was gone, Bossuet pulled out a chair for her. "Now…I think there's still a smidge of brandy left over, would you like some?"

"No, thank you," Éponine said softly, her hands in her lap. "Bossuet?"

"Yes?"

"What would you do if you were completely devoted to someone who had no idea of your feelings for them? Would you let them know?"

"As it just so happens, I believe I'm in a similar situation. You see, I often stay with Joly, and, well, he has Muschietta to keep him company. Little does she know just how much I adore her," he said with a laugh. "I suppose it's just as well that the one time I really fall in love, alas, it is unrequited. Now, as for letting this man know how you feel, that's up to you. It depends on how receptive you think he'll be."

"In that case, then, I should keep my mouth shut. If he didn't take notice of me before, he certainly won't now that Cos—now that he's distracted."

"Ah, isn't that always the way of it? You just know you could do, say, and be everything for someone, if only they'd let you."

Éponine drew Bossuet's coat tighter around her shoulders. "That's exactly it." Éponine paused. "On second thought, I think I'll take some of that drink."

Bossuet laughed. "Need to warm up?" he said, pouring her a glass.

"I need to forget."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, my dear Éponine. You have a fine life; you're a very lucky girl."

Éponine scoffed. "Lucky? I'm far from that, I'm afraid. If I were lucky, I wouldn't be stealing my dinners, or only in the corner of his…of Marius's eye." She sniffed. "And I most certainly wouldn't be earning my keep sleeping around!" her voice broke and Bossuet laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Well, Mademoiselle, if your definition of good fortune is riches, love, and three square meals a day, you may want to broaden your mind. I'm afraid only one in a thousand people fit that bill," Bossuet said with a somewhat rueful laugh.

"You're right. And that one in a thousand just so happens to be called Cosette," Éponine said sourly.

"Some things we must take with a grain of salt." Éponine looked up at Bossuet, suddenly angry.

"A grain of salt?! That may be true if it's the loss of a shoe, or having to cut a knot out of your hair! But I love him. I've always loved him. Yesterday I had a chance…now that chance is gone! Don't you understand? He's the one who helped me the first day we met, when everyone else on the street looked away. He's the first person I go to with news—good, or bad. Marius is the only person who's ever truly cared for me! He knows me better than anybody, and now…now Cosette will have all that. I'm losing him, Bossuet. I'm losing my best friend, so don't expect me to just stand by and let it happen!" Her voice had risen considerably, and the silence that followed her exclamation seemed almost oppressive. Bossuet, too, was quiet. Éponine spoke again, her voice softer, but just as emphatic. "You're a man of fate, so I'll put this in your language. The world is scripted, and for people like me, I play my part of prostitute and beggar, and then I die, unless I do something to change it. Maybe _you_ can laugh off any bad thing that happens, but I'm tired of watching every possibility for happiness slip past me."

After a moment, Bossuet spoke. "So what do you plan to do?"

Éponine took a deep breath. "I'll fight for him."

**You like? I know it's a wee bit short, but the ending gives you plenty to imagine for yourself! So many 'what ifs'...It got a teensy bit OOC for Éponine towards the end, but hey, that's FanFiction for ya. Again, SO SORRY this was obscenely late! I hope it was worth it…tell me what you think! And also, which barricade boy is your favorite? I'm curious! :D **


	8. Feuilly

**This one's not too late, right? Anyway, here ya go! Read and review! :D And I just realized…I'm starting to get down to the last of the boys! Oh no! But…I may have a surprise in store! Stay tuned!**

Tactics

_Éponine + Feuilly_

"_Feuilly was a fan-maker, orphaned of both father and mother, who laboriously earned three francs a day and whose mind was obsessed with a single thought, to liberate the world. His other preoccupation was to educate himself…everything he knew he had learned in solitude. He had a warm heart, an immense capacity for affection. Being an oprhan he adopted mankind as his parents…he hated to think that there should ba any man without a country…Above all, the first partition of Poland in 1772 roused him to fury…he never wearied of talking about that infamous event, a noble and gallantrace subdued by treachery…the penniless workman had constituted himself the guardian of Justice, and Justice had rewarded him with a touch of greatness."_

—_Victor Hugo, Les Misérables_

"Feuilly, please, we need to be worrying about _France_. This is now, not some Polish struggle from decades ago. Channel your energy into fighting today's battle, not yesterday's," Enjolras said with forced patience, rubbing his temples. The young, curly-haired Pole's face fell, but only for a second.

"But don't you see? We can use the past to shape the future. If only I lived in Poland…" Feuilly countered.

"You don't! You live here!" Enjolras snapped, slamming his fist on the table. Feuilly started; Enjolras let out a tense breath. "I'm going home. See you at tomorrow's meeting," he said, stacking his books haphazardly on top of one another and hastily scooping up his papers in a very disheveled fashion before pushing past Feuilly and out into the stairwell to the lower level of Café Musain. On his way he brushed past Éponine, who was looking for Marius.

"What's gotten into him?" she asked Feuilly, rubbing her shoulder where Enjolras had bumped into her with her usual smile laced with sadness.

"Sometimes I think all of this leadership business just overwhelms him. Leading an inexperienced group of schoolboys can't be the easiest task."

"Well, I'm sure he'll manage. What keeps you here so late?"

"I had an idea that we could use some of the tactics used during the Polish overtaking, and maybe conquer the government the same way."

"I take it he wouldn't have it," Éponine laughed.

"Not even for a second. And what about you? What brings you here?" Feuilly questioned, shrugging on his jacket. Éponine sighed.

"You wouldn't happen to have seen Marius, would you?"

"Not since this afternoon. Why?"

Éponine sighed. "My father managed to pickpocket Marius _again_ at the rally today. Took his pocketwatch. Honestly, I don't know how that tosser doesn't ever notice. Anyway, I got it back and wanted to return it to Marius, but I can't find him anywhere."

"You might check with Courfeyrac, sometimes Marius rooms with him when meetings end late."

"I'll do that." Éponine watched as Feuilly, still frustrated by Enjolras's dismissal earlier, let out a sigh and pulled out a handkerchief, the corner of which was embroidered with a tiny Polish flag and the words "Mazurek Dąbrowskiego" encircling it. He dabbed at his forehead with it before replacing it in the pocket of his coat. Éponine walked over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. After a moment, Feuilly spoke.

"It wouldn't kill Enjolras to take a suggestion every now and then, you know. What I had in mind was perfectly plausible."

"And what _did_ you have in mind? Enlighten me, Monsieur," she said with a smile. Feuilly lit up; someone finally wanted to listen! He explained the partition of Poland and reduction of its size and population with such fervor that Éponine couldn't help but become riled up about it as well. "I've studied exactly how the Russians and their allies overtook her. I think we could use them as a guide; you see, Enjolras wants to bring the fighting to our front doors, to have the home advantage. He wants to wait until the army confronts us, instead of going on the offensive, but what if we graduated from public protests and rallies and launched a real attack?" Éponine was silent for a moment.

"I see your point," she said slowly. Feuilly sat back in his chair, proud of himself. Éponine continued , "but you just said yourself that you're only a group of students. Half of you are just learning how to handle a gun. Confronting a trained army out of the blue would be suicide!"

"It's suicide regardless of who takes the first shot," Feuilly countered. Éponine's words died before they left her mouth; he was right. "I want a liberated France more than anything, and I am willing to give my life to that cause. But I want to give it in an honorable way. I'd rather be shot cornering the enemy than be the one surrounded."

"That's very admirable, Feuilly, and perhaps you're right," she said quickly, as Feuilly had opened his mouth in protest at her doubtful expression. "but Enjolras knows what he's doing. Not to slight you at all, but there's a reason he's the leader, and that's because he knows how and when to fight."

Feuilly sat with a stony expression, clearly unhappy with what he was hearing. Nevertheless, he nodded. "I know. It's just—" he paused—"my life isn't his to risk."

"That's true," Éponine agreed. "You could always back away." Feuilly looked outraged.

"Back away?! Betray my brothers, and disgrace myself? That's out of the question."

Éponine smiled; he'd reacted just as she hoped he would. "Well, then that tells you what to do right there."

Feuilly nodded contemplatively, feeling better. He rose from his chair. "I best be getting home." Éponine rose to her feet as well. "Thank you for listening to me."

"Anytime, Monsieur. I should be on my way as well. By now, our dear friend Marius will have noticed his jacket is a bit lighter," she said, dangling the stolen pocketwatch from its chain before slinging it around her neck for safekeeping. The pair exited the café in good spirits, both having reached some form of compromise in their discussion, and parted ways at the end of the square, each departing on their own path to the same fate.

**Sorry if that last line was a little morbid…! Let me know what you thought of this installment! And just so you know, I only have a couple boys left to write for! **

**I was thinking about a Marius chapter, but since he's technically not one of Les Amis, I'm not sure…I guess it depends what you guys think! Do you want a Marius chapter? Let me know, and if enough people say yes then I'll write one!**

**Review review review! :D**


	9. Marius

**Alright, so a lot of you said in your reviews that you wanted a Marius chapter, so here ya go! I know he's not technically one of Les Amis, but he's still a barricade boy, so I did it! Before we begin, I'm going to warn you of two things. 1) I got a little choked up as I was writing this, and I don't ship Marius and Éponine at ALL. So….beware of the potential emotional instability that lies ahead. And 2) this chapter involves a lot of "time travel;" one paragraph may be in 1832, another in 1820, etc. The location changes too, so be attentive to that! **

**I hope you all like this chapter! I know some of you really ship Marius and Éponine, some of you hate them together, and some of you like the characters but want to read something other than just Éponine getting friendzoned, and I think I've done a pretty good job of making this a little different than typical M/É stories. Enough talk, though! Hope you like it! **

**I lied, one more thing. There's no excerpt from the Brick describing Marius as there have been for the other boys…I figure you all know him well enough by now!**

Rain

_Éponine + Marius_

_~*~*~*~*~*~*~*Paris, 1832*~*~*~*~*~*_

Éponine's vision grew hazy as she collapsed against the barricade, her hand pressed against her breast in an attempt to stem the flow of blood that made each passing second a struggle for life. Through the steadily falling rain and her clouded eyes, she saw Marius approaching her. Her throat clogged up as he came nearer; first confusion spread across his face, then realization, then anguish.

"Ponine?" he whispered, voice breaking. "What've you done?" Éponine smiled comfortingly as she withdrew a tiny folded note from her pocket, holding it out to Marius.

"I kept it from you. It's from Cosette," she said with as calm a voice as she could muster. Marius fell to his knees, noticing the bright red stain on his best friend's shirt. He took the note from Éponine's shaking hand and stuffed it in his jacket before taking her in his arms. He cradled her, shielding her from the rain. He took her hand in his, her slender hand dwarfed by his strong one.

"Shhh, shh," he consoled her. "I've got you."

_~*~*~*~*~*~*~*Montfermeil, 1820~*~*~*~*~*_

Éponine was knocked to her feet as a boy about her age bowled her over, knocking them both behind a peddler's cart. "Shhh!" the boy said as Éponine opened her mouth to protest. "Shh, I'm hiding!" The pair were crouched out of sight of passersby, and Éponine looked at the boy, confused.

"Hiding from who?" Éponine whispered.

"My grandfather," he answered with the mischievous smirk only seven-year-old boys possess. "He'll never find me here." The boy turned to Éponine, who was only but six herself, and held out his hand. "My name is Marius Pontmercy," he said. His bourgeois tone made Éponine's eyes widen—just imagine what pretty things he may have in his pockets!—and she stuck out her hand as well after wiping it off on her dress.

"Éponine," she said. Just then, a white-bearded man came around the corner and spotted Marius crouching behind the cart.

"There you are! Don't you ever run off again, you hear, boy?" Marius's grandfather scolded, tugging him to his feet by his collar. Marius looked sheepishly from his grandfather to Éponine and back again.

"Sorry, sir," he said with a 'you-caught-me' smile.

"Come along now, it's time we went home."

"But—!"

"_Now._"

"Alright, alright. I'll see you around, 'Ponine!" Éponine watched him go, her heart fluttering.

_~*~*~*~*~*~*Paris, 1832*~*~*~*~*~*_

Éponine's eyelids fluttered and her breath came in ragged bursts. Marius held her closer, adjusting his position so she could rest her head on his shoulder.

"Ponine, no. Stay with me. It'll be okay, Joly will fix you up, you'll be good as new," he said, holding his hand atop hers to try and stop more blood from flowing. "Oh God, it's everywhere!" he said frantically. Éponine mustered all her strength to lift her eyelids once more. She could feel Marius's heartbeat, much stronger than her own, and smiled weakly.

"Now don't you fret, Monsieur Marius." Éponine couldn't discern rain from teardrops, but the strain in Marius's voice told her he was crying. "I don't feel any pain." She reached up to hold his face in her hands. To her surprise, Marius leaned into her touch, trying to regain his composure.

_~*~*~*~*~*~*Montfermeil, 1828*~*~*~*~*~*_

Éponine tried to regain her composure, holding a hand to the angry red mark her father had left on her cheek as she stumbled out the door of the inn and right into—

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "My apologies, Monsieur, I wasn't paying attention."

"There's no need to call me 'Monsieur,' 'Ponine." Éponine's heart swelled as she recognized the voice.

"Marius!" She hadn't seen him since her family's last pickpocketing escapade to Paris. "What are you doing here?" She suddenly remembered the mark on her cheek and hastily covered it; this action did not go unnoticed.

"Just passing through," Marius said slowly, removing Éponine's hand from her cheek and examining the damage her father had done. "Who did this to you?"

Had it been anyone else, Éponine never would have revealed who hit her, but Marius was different. He actually understood. Her shoulders sagged as she told Marius everything: her father's abusive tendencies, her family's thievery…and though it pained her, she even told him of her 'other means' of bringing in the coin. What was she expecting from him? Sympathy, a chaste hug before he checked into wherever it was he planned to stay?

"Can you last another night at home?"

"Of course," Éponine said; she was tougher than she looked.

"Then do so. Tomorrow, when I return to Paris, you'll accompany me. I'll see that you have a place fit to stay in." Éponine shook her head; she didn't want his pity. She opened her mouth to protest, but Marius cut her off. "I'll keep you safe, 'Ponine."

_*~*~*~*~*Paris, 1832*~*~*~*~*~*_

"You will keep me safe," Éponine whispered.

"And I will stay with you," Marius assured her. The rain mixed with his tears and cascaded down his face in rivulets. Éponine was always so tough, so unbreakable, but he could now see how fragile she really was. It scared him; Éponine was his best friend, a fierce fighter, and a beautiful girl. Even now, with blood pooling around her, she kept a brave face, even smiling when Marius had taken her in his arms.

The other students had begun to take notice of Éponine's demise, and they stood solemnly a few feet away, wishing there was some way to help heal her but knowing that their cause would be fruitless. Even Enjolras, the usually stoic leader, was somber, with traces of grief etched on his prematurely lined face. Éponine registered none of this; she was fixated only on the boy holding her, all too aware that it was for the first and the last time.

_~*~*~*~*~*~*Paris, 1831*~*~*~*~*~*_

For the first—and likely the last—time, the meeting in Café Musain was short. Éponine had laughed out loud at the young men's faces when Enjolras did the unheard of: he let them go after only two and a half hours. Usually Enjolras milked the meetings for all they were worth and reviewed tactics and strategies late into the night. The boys, many of whom had much studying of their own to do, were simultaneously baffled by and grateful for this decision. The young men dissipated quickly; a light drizzle had begun and they were anxious to get home before the clouds broke open. Éponine, Marius and Courfeyrac were the last to leave, save for Enjolras, who often remained in the Café till dawn, poring over his plans. With a cheerful wave, Courfeyrac jogged down a side street to his flat as the drizzle turned into a shower.

"We should go before it gets much worse," Marius observed. Éponine nodded and the two of them, using Marius's coat as a makeshift umbrella, began their walk home. No sooner had they stepped out from under the overhang of the café than the rain became heavier.

"That figures," Éponine sighed, but she was happy as well, for the weather forced the two to huddle even closer.

"What do you think? Shall we make a dash for it?" Marius asked.

"Sounds good to me!"

The rain poured down as Marius and Éponine ran. "Come on!" she heard Marius shout over the pounding of the rain. He took Éponine's hand, leading her through the tangle of empty streets flooded with puddles, until a false step caused him to trip and go splashing into the largest one. Éponine burst into a fit of giggles as Marius picked himself up with as much dignity as one who's just taken an unplanned swim _can_ have, brushing imaginary dirt off his coat just like it were nothing. Éponine walked over to him, still laughing.

"Hurry!" she said, tugging on his arm. As Éponine tried to lead him along, however, Marius pulled her back.

"What's the point?" he shouted over the rain, "We're already wet!" He swung Éponine in a wide circle, sending a spray of water across the shining cobblestones. After a few moments of this giddiness, Éponine and Marius were too wrought with laughter to continue. Bent double, Éponine clutched at her stomach, which was aching from all their laughing. Marius, too, looked ridiculous, and yet even with his hair plastered to his face and his fine suit soaked through, Éponine had never seen a man more handsome. Their giggles subsided and they met in the center of the road.

"What do you say we head home?" Éponine suggested, gesturing to her dripping dress. Marius nodded with that smile Éponine loved so much. The rain was subsiding, leaving a chill in the streets of Paris. Seeing Éponine shiver, Marius draped his jacket over her. "I don't think that'll do much good, Monsieur!" Éponine teased.

"Right as always, 'Ponine," Marius replied, putting an arm around her tiny frame instead. Though his arm did little to dry Éponine, she felt warmth spread instantly from where he touched her all the way down to her bare toes. She smiled to herself; she thought of the people in their homes, who, looking down upon the two young adults, may think them a couple, even if only for a minute.

_~*~*~*~*~*~*Paris, 1832*~*~*~*~*~*_

Even if only for a minute, Éponine and Marius were the only two people in the world. She knew she had only moments left, but she wasn't afraid. Lying in the arms of the boy she loved, Éponine felt safe. She felt _loved_. And she couldn't think of a better way to die than knowing that in sacrificing herself, she'd saved Marius's life. Her eyes began to sting with tears as Marius pressed a cloth against her wound.

"Just hold me now," she said in earnest, "and let it be. Shelter me, comfort me."

Marius smoothed Éponine's hair off her forehead and blinked back more tears. He felt absolutely devastated; he hadn't even seen her when she took that bullet for him. He wasn't watching. He could have saved her, if only he'd seen her there. What else had he missed in the years he'd known her? And why, _why_ must he realize all this now, when it was too late to change the inevitable course of events! A shudder ran through Éponine's body and Marius looked down at her once more, her face, so much more beautiful than he'd thought it before, wet with raindrops.

Marius whispered words of comfort to Éponine at the same time she tried to assure him that she wasn't suffering. Her body was frail and her voice grew feebler by the second; Marius knew she didn't have much time left.

"And rain…" Éponine said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Will make the flowers grow."

"But you will live, 'Ponine! Dear God above," Marius prayed. Then he stroked Éponine's cheek with his thumb. "If I could close your wounds with words of love…"

Those were the words Éponine had longed to hear directed towards her from Marius ever since they'd met. Though belated, they brought her one last moment of happiness. She had loved him with all her heart for all the years they'd known each other. In hindsight, it seemed a silly waste of one's time, but in her final breaths, Éponine felt no regret. She'd been closer to him than anyone ever was, and his friendship had been a blessing in itself. All those times she'd been thrown out of her home, punished, or beaten, he was the one who gave her strength to carry on. She was happiest with him, even as she lay dying in his embrace. A stab of pain shot through her again and a small cry escaped her lips. Immediately, Marius drew her closer.

"I'm here," he choked out.

"That's all I need to know," Éponine replied. A strange numbness had engulfed her. With her final breath, she said, "You know, Monsieur Marius, I think I was a little bit in love with you." Then, her body went limp, and her eyes closed forever. Marius, shaking with suppressed sobs, graced Éponine's forehead with a kiss, filled with remorse and hoping that somehow, she could still feel his lips upon her skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as Combeferre and Enjolras lifted her small body and placed her gently in the café with the other deceased.

**That was the longest chapter I've written for this story so far…I never thought I'd write the most about my least favorite boy (sorry, Pontmercy). I hope it lived up to your expectations. In case you didn't pick up on this while reading, the parts of this chapter that took place in the past were supposed to be memories that Éponine recalled as she was dying. I wanted to really give some background to their friendship. Oh—and I know the lyrics from A Little Fall of Rain that I used are out of order; they just worked best that way! I spent a total of about 10 hours on this chapter (broken up of course), so I'd really appreciate it if you left me a review letting me know if you liked it or not!**


	10. Enjolras

**Sorry for the wait….again….but I actually had surgery twice so I have a partial excuse! This chapter's probably shorter than most of you hoped it would be, but I'm proud of it!**

**YOU AT THE BARRICADE LISTEN TO THIS! This is it. Enjolras!**

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**Minor smut. Enjoy.**

Escape

Enjolras + Éponine

_"Enjolras was a charming young man, who was capable of being terrible. He was angelically beautiful. He was Antinous wild. You would have said, to see the thoughtful reflection of his eye, that he had already, in some preceding existence, passed through the revolutionary apocalypse. He had the tradition of it like an eyewitness. He knew all the little details of the grand thing, a pontifical and warrior nature, strange in a youth…Like certain young men of the beginning of this century and the end of the last century, who became illustrious in early life, he had an exceedingly youthful look, as fresh as a young girl's, although he had hours of pallor. He was serious, he did not seem to know that there was on the earth a being called woman…He was severe in his pleasures. He astonished you by his soaring. Woe to the love affair that should venture to intrude upon him!"_

_-Victor Hugo, Les Misérables_

Escape is the concept of freedom that, in itself, traps its victims even further. After all, to want an escape you must need it, and to need it means you feel desperate for release. That's what the relationship Éponine shared with Enjolras consisted of. There was no lovemaking when she was with the young revolutionary, just the kind of relief only their actions could bring. Enjolras, while infinitely dedicated to the Revolution, sought to escape the pressures of leading more than thirty men to an inevitable death, and Éponine, well, she had her own fair share of troubles to forget.

There was nothing romantic about the nights they shared, yet it wasn't purely physical either. It was passionate; all burdens were shaken off for a few erotic hours during which both parties were lost in each other, in a kind of twisted bliss. The first time was after particularly grueling meeting in Café Musain; the young men must have had a little too much to drink, and their rowdiness made any hope of productivity impossible. Éponine had found Enjolras in the empty café alone that night, his face like solid marble as he sat in his usual chair, his body tense with frustration and pressure, sealed off from the rest of the world. It was the most vulnerable Éponine had ever seen him. When she whispered his name, she'd only meant to see if he was alright. She never meant to go home with him.

At first, Éponine felt that being with Enjolras was wrong. After all, he had an army of schoolboys to train and prepare for a fight, and she had her own struggle. Neither of them needed any distractions. And how foolish it seemed to sleep with a man who she'd seen get more aroused over battle plans and red flags than the cheap whores so many other men gawked at. Still, after falling asleep in Enjolras's strong embrace that first night, feeling him close to her, she felt…not satisfied, but at least comforted. They gave each other what was needed: a night away from their burdens, and someone to share the sheets with.

After that, their trysts became an unorthodox comfort, a silent agreement. Each time Éponine came to Enjolras's door and each time her let her in, that same burning look in his eyes as he scanned the premise before shutting the door, a mutual understanding was recognized between them; they were not lovers, rather, the only constant in the other's life. Something kept them coming back to each other, strange though it may be. Maybe it was the need to get away, or maybe it was simply the desire to hear a heartbeat different than their own—another drumbeat that was just as fervent and just as pained. For two souls that were utterly alone—one by his own choice and one by another's—it helped to know that there was someone to turn to who knew what the other needed. And if she closed her eyes, Éponine could almost pretend it was Marius who held her instead. After all, when she closed her eyes, Enjolras could be anyone.

Then, it was different. Éponine lay on her back in Enjolras's bed, which had become more familiar to her than her own, feeling Enjolras's strong hands on her body, his lips grazing her skin sensually. She was floating, far above the world of trouble below as Enjolras moved in her. It wasn't until she heard her own name escape his lips in a low moan that she awoke from her reverie. In all the times they'd been together, never once had he said her name, not even in a whisper. He rarely made any sound at all. "Éponine," Enjolras breathed again, kissing her neck. Éponine felt a new kind of swooping sensation in her stomach; the way her name sounded coming from Enjolras's mouth was unlike anything she'd heard before. It sounded beautiful, nothing like the name of some grisette on the street. Enjolras rolled his hips again, pushing deeper, bringing Éponine closer and closer until—

"_Enjolras."_ Éponine's breath caught in her throat as she came, Enjolras seconds after her. She looked into his eyes, two bottomless pools of blue that reflected the weight of the world and kissed his lips softly. He didn't kiss back, and she knew why.

"I don't love you."

"It's better that way."

He rolled off of her and lay on his back, a thin sheen of sweat shining on his chest as he stared through the ceiling, past the rafters, up towards the stars. A few moments later his breathing became slow and even, his brow furrowed in stern concentration even in sleep. Éponine silently got out of bed and pulled her dress on, the cool night air making her shiver. That was another one of their unwritten rules: Éponine was never there when Enjolras woke. She left silently, slipping out the door unseen and unheard and arriving home before the sun awoke.

Éponine knew better than to think she was close to Enjolras; they may share their nights together, but to say that she knew what went on in his head, his heart…that would be a lie. All she knew was that there was some degree of turmoil within the marble lover of liberty. By day, he was high on a pedestal, the leader of a hundred voices, but at night—at night he was really just another face in a sea of wanderers, all trying to escape from the vast clutches of anonymity.

**Well, there you have it! I hope you liked it, I honestly loved writing this chapter and I hope it's a nice change from the usual É/E stories out there (not that those are bad, I love them!). **

**I had intended for this to be the last installment of this story, but maybe if you leave me some really nice reviews and suggestions for other scenes I can whip up some more scenarios…but hey, it's up to you! You've got to give me something to work with!**

**Anyway, go ahead and review, I won't stop ya! Thanks for sticking with my story for so long, I know I haven't been the most consistent of updaters :D**

**Vive la république! **


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